Birthday wishes

He'd have been one year old today.

That also means that in less than two months, it will be a year since my son Harry died. It seems like both an eternity and a few days ago. We're having a little mini-family vacation this week in Harry's honor. I wanted it to be more of a celebration than a mourning.

So if blogging seems a little light this week, it's not laziness, I promise.

My toes show it

I was tidying up in the old Siftin' archives and came across something I wrote in the early-90s when I could be found occupying the ticket booth at my local theater.

Working box, as it was called, was often fairly solitary. While I sat in the ticket booth, my co-workers manned the concession stand down the hall.

In between shows, there wasn't much to do aside from helping the occasional "When's the next showing of 'Dumb and Dumbler'?" customer.

And no, I didn't misspell that. That's what she asked. She also asked about "Richie Richie" as well as another title that was just so wrong, I'm not going to mention it.

Anyhow, I passed the time by writing. Armed with either a notebook, or scroll-like on a roll of rough and amazingly water-resistant brown paper towels, I scribbled furiously.

One day, much to my amazement, I wrote a poem. Now keep in mind, I'm not a poet at all. My best work up to that point was

Roses are swell

Violets are nifty

I got your valentine

For a quarter at Thrifty

Real poetry was over my head with its use of symbolism and abstract imagery. So when I read what I had written, I wondered just what the hell happened. Did I zone out that much? Was I tripping on the Windex fumes after cleaning the box office window?

Beats me. Even now, a dozen or so years later, I still can't imagine having written it if I didn't have the hard copy in my own writing.

I see references to commercials and Michael Jackson's marriage to Lisa Marie Presley, but everything else is just a mishmash of images, almost like flipping through channels late at night.

If you want to sample this oddity for yourself, have at it. It's long, and I can't say that it's particularly good (I wouldn't really know, honestly), but it is weird, and that's what we're all about at this blog, right? I would like to clarify that I was stone sober when I wrote this (I was at work, after all).

I bask in the glory of my Barka Lounger

Because I'm not a La Z Boy

Overdub a Jack in the Box springing

Or falling or summering — no matter

I sing the words because I can't hum

The darn thing has wings — so I can fly

To my Craftmatic Adjustable Coffin

And sleep restfully forever or at least

Until the Bunch comes back on because

Marcia was the cutest — ow, my nose!

What is that noise trip-trapping at the olfactory?

Could it be Jeno's Pizza Rolls?

And what roles

Do pizzas have?

I guess olive to learn another day.

How do you smell relief?

Just don't light a match

Because only you can prevent forest fires.

I have a not-so-fresh feeling

I should have used a Ziploc bag

Yellow and blue make green, which

Is the whole point of watching anyway

Watch, sleep — perchance to think

Make sure your answer is in the form of

A question? I'm sorry

We have to take your first answer

Because the second one was right

Skinned purple dinosaurs are on

No relief no commercials no hope

This is your brain on drugs...A fried egg

Doing the Humpty Dance. I just hope

It was margarine because butter

PARKAY

Is high in cholesterol

My dog's bigger than your dog

'Cause he eats mailmen who take steroids

A is for anarchy

J is for jenius

Cinnamon toasty, finger-licking good

The Colonel will always have a friend

Wearing big red shoes.

It is the shoes

Start a revolution with Elvis-in-law

Moonwalk through

Turn the other cheek

But don't squeeze the Charmin

Mr. Whipple and Mrs. Olsen got married

Which made for some interesting coffee

They had in France what was the

Name of that waiter — Jean-Luc?

Boldly serving coffee where no one

Has gone to celebrate the

Moments of your life

Send the

Very best to get your z's but avoid

Operating heavy machinery as you

Can learn a lot from a dummy

I love you, you love me, my

Parents were Grimace and Dino

Yabba-Dabba-Does She or

Doesn't she?

Only her plastic surgeon

Nose for sure.

Are you sure? Raise

Your hand if you really think you ought to

And now a word from our sponsor about these

Messages after this

Word we'll be right

Back.

Sorry, Alex.

What is back?

Daily Double Martini, extra dry

Shaken, not stirred

Don't forget the olive

Blow me down.

Sorry, ladies, he's taken

Y'know, I was almost going to let this one go without comment.

For some reason, they were selling tiny stockings in the gumball machines at the store when we were kids. I don't think that was the main draw -- we were probably trying to get one of those giant sticky things that it's fun to smack people with.

At first we were bummed out with our purchase. I mean, what can you do with a tiny stocking?

"I bet you can't fit it over your head," I said to my brother, Josh.

No sooner said than done. The fun part came when he tried to take it off -- and couldn't.

We just had to save this one for posterity.

Now, I don't know what's funnier -- the twin runs in the stocking that line up with his front teeth or his Bear Whiz Beer shirt.

What about the Twinkie?

I saw this at Junk Food Blog, and it made my morning.

I know, it's only a bit after 7 here, but I've been up since 2:30, so there.

Banana Creme Filled Twinkies!

Ever since I found that Twinkies were originally filled with banana creme (I was doing a report on the food groups), I always wondered what that would taste like.

They should be on store shelves now, so we'll see if I can find them and try them out before their limited time is up.

It's a tie-in with the DVD release of "King Kong," which, like every movie since "Batman Begins," I have yet to see.

The last time they had a King Kong movie, the ill-fated "King Kong Lives," with Linda Hamilton, I thought I had the perfect product tie-in.

Pez dispensers.

Check it out -- this is sort of how it could've worked had they consulted me and planned it ahead of time:

1. Early in movie, have a scene where Kong sees a kid with a soldier Pez dispenser. He sees the kid pull the head back and grab some candy. Maybe even throw in a funny reaction from Kong.
2. Later in movie when encountering soldiers, Kong remembers the Pez dispenser. He tries to flip the guy's head back, but there's no candy. Kong sad.

3. Have tie-in dispensers with packs of white and red Pez.

In my defense, I was 12. But you'd definitely remember the movie, wouldn't you?

Where's the love, Paula?

I have issues with "American Idol" judge Paula Abdul. It's not about how she's nice to practically everyone, and it's not about how what she says doesn't always seem to make sense ("... the moth who finds the melon ...").

It's simply this: It's the fifth season of American Idol, and MC Skat Kat has yet to be featured as a celebrity judge.

Has she forgotten about her old friend? I mean, they were in a video together, they collaborated on a song -- doesn't that mean anything?

That's cold-hearted.

He's not goofy, he's my brother

In sixth grade, we all got fake awards at the end of the year. I got one for "Most Interesting Brother," because of all the goofy things I told my classmates about my brother, most of which were actually true.

In that spirit, I thought I would share some of the highlights from time to time.

Today, we'll start with something simple.

For some reason, Josh makes goofy faces in pictures. This is partly because he has a goofy face (rimshot), and partly because I think he wasn't paying attention when someone would whip out the camera.

That's how you get pictures like this:


Yeah, you know, your guess is as good as mine on that one.

Josh would probably tell you that he was slyly flipping the bird, but I'm not buying it.

As easy as 1-2-3

Look at me -- all domestic and stuff.

Just as my wife pretends to see my coveted Nacho Cheese Cheetos on the shelves, I catch her with "Hey, isn't that Jell-O 1-2-3?"

Except when I do it, I'm a jerk.

Well, we were jonesing for some of the aforementioned dessert, so we decided to make it ourselves. Apparently so many people have asked about it that the Kraft Web site actually has a recipe for it.

I made a few modifications -- I used the regular Jell-O and Cool Whip instead of low-calorie. But after a few minutes, this is what I ended up with. On first glance, it looked like I'd made Jell-O 1-2. But if you look close, there's a third layer in the middle. I've labeled them for your convenience.


So you're saying, "That's amazing, Jeff! I am constantly amazed at the seemingly unending list of things at which you excel (with the exception of growing hair, which, as it's not your fault, doesn't count against you). But how did it taste?"

It was pretty good. I don't really have a concrete memory of what it's supposed to taste like, but it tasted like something I'd eaten before, and that was good enough for me. Look, I'm even smiling.

Of course, just after Jen took this picture, I realized that it hadn't quite set yet. But after a little bit in the freezer (I'm impatient, sue me), it was fine.

Since I used the mixed fruit flavor, the bottom layer had a color similar to raw chicken, which was a little disturbing. So let that be a little tip to you -- consider the resulting color when you pick your flavor.

Kick me, I'm Irish

To some people of Irish descent (here in the States, anyway), St. Patrick's Day means corned beef and cabbage and wearing something green.

To me, it means paranoia and a sore arm or leg.

I'm colorblind.

More importantly, my classmates found out that I was colorblind.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, recoiling from the pinch. "I am too!"

A flurry of Am Nots and Are Toos got us a debriefing with our teacher, whom I thought would come to my aid.

Alas, she said that I was, in fact, not wearing anything green. Shortly after, my classmates were told that I had trouble telling green from red.

So the next year, when St. Patrick's Day came around again, I made sure I was wearing green.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my arm where I'd been socked. "I am too wearing green! I even asked this time!"

"How do you know?" Smack!

So yeah, St. Patrick's Day, not so much a happy holiday for me.

Plus, I hate corned beef and cabbage.

The degree of my St. Pat's celebration is limited to driving the snakes from Modesto and imbibing the occasional Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, should I stop at one where they actually know what the hell I'm talking about.

"A what?"

"Shamrock Shake. You know, it's mint-flavored. And green. For St. Patrick's Day."

"I don't think we have that kind of thing here. We have McFlurries."

"Uh, never mind."

"Thank you. I'll have your total at the first window."

This would've been remotely funny had I thought of it before the Oscars

"I wish I could quit you."

Superman or Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me

This seems to be the kind of thing people who know me think I'd be jumping to do: "Who Wants to Be a Superhero?"

Truth be told, superhero was my first dream job. I have the perfect superhero name -- Sparkman.

Alas, I have two weaknesses standing in my way: a bad knee and about 25 extra pounds. Plus, I'd have to design and sew up a costume, and I don't think anyone wants to see that.

Maybe if this is successful, they'll do another one. Or maybe even "Who Wants to Be a Supervillain?"

That would give me a chance to find another excuse get in shape.

Just don't give away my secret identity, okay?

The Mane Problem 2: Electric Boogaloo

My friend Ken (who has just started a blog) took time from his obviously busy schedule to offer up some hairstyle suggestions. You be the judge:


Mr. T


Jean-Luc Picard


Just plain bald


Charlie Brown


Mr. Clean

Thanks, buddy. At least I didn't ride a unicycle to school.

The mane problem

I'm always complaining about my hair's endangered species status. I used to have a lot of hair, and it was thick. Now, not so much.

Lately, my wife has been suggesting that I just go all the way and shave my head completely. This is due mostly to the fact that one of the dreamy "American Idol" contestants has done the same thing.

That's great and all, but I don't think she's seeing the whole picture.

My wife, bless her heart, thinks I'll look like this:


And my mental picture of the same situation:


My two objections to shaving my head: I don't get out in the sun much and am consequently a bit pasty, and I need to lose a few pounds.

I mean really, if I shave my head now, all I need is a little chef's hat and people will start poking my belly and asking for fresh croissants.

Microwave Massacre unbound!

Woo-hoo!

In less than a week, one of my favorite bad movies finally makes it to DVD!

The folks at Anthem Pictures are releasing "Microwave Massacre" with Jackie Vernon.

I'm not going to say much about the movie -- it's on my list to review later -- but I will say that this DVD is being billed as an unrated and uncut version. It gives the running time as 76 minutes, which is the same found on IMDB.com, so I don't know what exactly they mean by "uncut."

They're also pushing this as having been billed as "The Worst Horror Movie of All Time." It certainly isn't a great movie, it's quite bad. But I've never heard of anyone refer to it as the worst.

In fact, I have met few people who've even heard of it. Go figure.

Despite that, I'll be looking forward to Tuesday. I'm hoping the DVD print is less muddy than my old VHS copy.

It's not easy being cheesy

My brain is working in cahoots with my stomach, and they're both against me.

While I'm doing something important (working, watching my son or delicate scratching), my brain and stomach decide that I'm in need of torment and give me random food cravings.

These can range from the inconvenient (a pastrami Hot Hat, which I could procure after a brief trip to a Straw Hat Pizza in Tracy) to the impossible (the tag-team treat of a Hostess Pudding Pie and Nacho Cheese Cheetos).

What did I ever do to them to make them hate me so much?

And more importantly, what's a guy have to do to get some good snack food to return to the shelves? I'm not the only one pining for the Pudding Pie.

And Frito-Lay seems to have room for every permutation of Cheetos imaginable. Here's the list from their Web site:

BAKED! CHEETOS Crunchy 100 Calorie Mini Bites Cheese Flavored Snacks
BAKED! CHEETOS Crunchy Cheese Flavored Snacks
BAKED! CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® 100 Calorie Mini Bites Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® FLAMIN' HOT® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® XXTRA FLAMIN' HOT® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Twisted Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Limon Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Jumbo Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Jumbo Puffs Flamin' Hot Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Natural White Cheddar Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS TWISTED Cheese Flavored Snacks

All of that and no Nacho Cheese Cheetos? I think not. For those of you who have not sampled such a taste delight, it's like if you ate a regular Cheeto and a Nacho Cheese Dorito at the same time.

I first saw them when I was a kid vacationing in Southern California with my family. I guess it was some kind of test marketing thing, because I didn't see them back home, and no one believed my stories about them.

Many years later, I was hanging out after class at Stan State, and I checked the little store for some suitable snacks.

There on a shelf, shining like a bounty of gold, were bags of Nacho Cheese Cheetos. I moved so fast toward them that you could still see my afterimage at the end of the aisle.

I only had enough money on me to buy one bag, but I was able to snag a few more bags at a nearby grocery store.

But I had to be rational about this. They disappeared once before; they could vanish again.

I called the customer service line at Frito-Lay and expressed my joy at finding my coveted snacks.

"I'm just curious, though," I said. "Is this just a test marketing thing, or are they a permanent addition?"

"Oh no, they're here for good," the friendly woman at Frito-Lay told me.

Lies!

I like to think that she was misinformed. I'd hate to think that she was deliberately lying to me just so she could rip my heart out and --

Sorry. Got a bit carried away.

I had my battle chest of Cheetos, but even I can plow my way through a big bag only so quickly. By the time I was ready for more, they glittered on the shelves no more.

But every time we go grocery shopping, I look for them. Just in case. My wife helps, too -- by testing my reflexes.

"Hey, are those Nacho Cheese Cheetos?" she'll ask, pointing to a random spot on the shelves. I look for them so quickly that I often miss the evil gleam in her eyes.

Should you want to help rectify this situation, you can call Frito-Lay at 1-800-352-4477, Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Central Standard Time or write to them at: Frito-Lay, P.O. Box 660634, Dallas, TX 75266-0634

And if you want Pudding Pies to make a comeback, you can try contacting Hostess via e-mail form here or mail Interstate Brands Corporation, Consumer Affairs, 12 E. Armour Blvd., Kansas City, MO 64111. Their number is 1-800-483-7253.

And don't mention me; I might be blacklisted or something for having perhaps made disparaging comments about Twinkie the Kid in my passionate plea for the return of Pudding Pies.

I'd just like to state for the record that I have nothing but respect for Twinkie the Kid, and I'd never do anything to harm him or his hat.

Act naturally

Watching the Oscars the other day reminded me of my own limited acting career.

I'd never thought much of being an actor. Even as a kid, I think I knew I had a face for radio. I had yet to discover I also had a voice for print, but at that point, I was plenty happy just being the kid who made you laugh.

So when my friend Felicia, who lived across the street, mentioned she wanted to put on a play for the neighborhood, I didn't know if it was something I wanted to do.

When she said that I'd be the lead, I decided that maybe I should give it a shot.

It was a short little story. I don't know if it had an official title; if it did, it probably was something like "My Dog."

The story: A kid (me) wants a dog. His mom and dad (Felicia and her brother, Nathaniel) say that he needs to work to improve his grades. Our studious student buckles down and brings up his grades. His efforts are rewarded with a new puppy (my brother Josh, in his debut role).

I think I had about the easiest role. I didn't have to dress up, and I basically got to be myself. My brother had to look remotely like a dog, which meant that he got to don a pair of pantyhose on his head for ears. We had to color in part of the pantyhose with a Magic Marker so it all matched.

The hardest part for me was being able to emote on cue. In rehearsal, I had a big problem. Felicia said that I wasn't excited enough. I would have felt dumb jumping up and down about a dog, especially since I didn't like dogs.

During the performance, it came time for my big line. I decided at the last minute to take a different kind of approach.

"Oh boy," I said, completely deadpan, "a dog." The crowd -- our parents, a neighbor or two and a few other kids -- laughed. Getting the biggest laugh was the high point for me, and we decided that we should come up with another play -- maybe something a little longer.

So, just a week or so before my 10th birthday, our second effort made its debut in Felicia and Nathaniel's front yard. Such seasoned veterans were much too experienced for simple things like "My Dog," so we came up with a blockbuster. Add equal parts "Ghostbusters," "Strange Brew" and "Magnum, P.I.," and you had our play: "McKenzies, G.I." (Ghost Investigators).

I love that we predated the Sci-Fi Channel by a good decade or so for coming up with features ripped off of other popular movies.

Again, I was one of the leads. I don't remember much of the story, but I know the subplot involved a reunion with a girl from my past. How much of a past a 9-year-old had, I don't know, but that's what we came up with. My brother played the ghost in this one, a step up from being a puppy.

"McKenzies, G.I." was another success, but it was our last play. On our limited effects budget, we couldn't really top ourselves. It did give me the idea to try out for the school play a few months later. I'd toyed with the idea each time they announced one.

I'd never auditioned before, so I didn't know if I'd done well or not. I found out when they announced the cast over the intercom system. I'd made it. I didn't know what role I had, but I knew that I could make it funny.

I don't think I made it to even the first meeting. That's when my parents broke the news to me that we were moving soon. I had to quit the play.

And aside from a few school projects, I never acted again.

Aside from acting like I was paying attention in class.

This game is no fun

Nothing can kill the Grimace: Tales of a clumsy younger brother

It was probably my fault; I was the one who taught him.

I took pride in the fact that after some initial work from my parents, I was able to teach my younger brother, Josh, how to ride a bike. I thought I'd done a good job, but there were a few things that made me wonder.

Clyde Crashcup strikes

One day, not too long after I taught him, Josh was riding near the house. While pedaling happily along the road, he managed to hit a pebble the size of a bit of gravel; the kind that makes an annoying scraping sound on the ground when it gets stuck in the treads of your sneakers.

This little pebble caused him to twist up his handlebars and flip over them, landing on his chin. Back to the house he went, dripping a little trail of blood. I had to collect his bike.

My mom saw him, and it was off to the emergency room. The doctor sewed him up with a few stitches and he was as good as new. Except for the giant fat lip (which, strangely, has never gone back down) and the divot on his chin, that is.

The Race

One neat thing about our neighborhood was that the streets were separated from most of the real traffic outside the mobile home park. Obviously, people had to drive in to get home, but for the most part, the streets were pretty quiet. This allowed us to ride our bikes around without having to dodge traffic.

My brother, his friend and I were on the other side of the park with our bikes when we got an idea.

"Hey, we should have a race!"

I was all for it; as the oldest, I was the most likely to win.

We lined up our bikes, with me on the outside, Josh's friend David in the middle, and Josh nearest the curb. We'd barely begun when I saw Josh teetering away from us, being drawn to the curb like a moth to a lightbulb. If he didn't aim left, he'd --

Crash.

Since the curbs were the flat kind that taper into the street, Josh went right into a driveway that was occupied by a large pickup truck.

I was a little confused. I heard the crash, I saw the dent in the side of the truck and the bits of plastic from the shattered turn signal light, but Josh's bike was still out in the street.

Josh was trying to get up, and he was holding his head. That's when I figured it out. He'd busted up some guy's truck with his head. Before I could wrap my own head around that, a door opened and a guy walked out. He looked briefly at his truck and then at Josh.

"Hey, are you okay?" He looked to me. "What happened?"

"He ran into the truck with his head."

"His head?"

The guy helped us cart Josh back home. He knocked on our front door. My dad answered.

"This your boy?" the guy asked.

My dad looked down at Josh, who was holding his head and sniffling. The guy didn't even ask my parents to fix the truck as far as I remember. He was just worried that Josh was hurt. I knew he was okay because he'd only hit his head.

My parents didn't think that was funny. Neither did Josh.

For the next decade, Josh seemed to always be tripping or falling over something. Sure, sometimes I'd give him a little help (what are big brothers for, right?), but he seemed to do all right on his own. And boy, was he resilient. It was like having a stuntman for a little brother.

What's up?

We were trick-or-treating one year, and I'd just come down a flight of stairs after getting my candy. Josh was starting his way down when one of his friends saw him.

"Hey Josh, what's up?"

Josh missed a step and tumbled down the stairs.

My first reaction (and I'm not entirely proud, mind you): "Not him."

After a quick stop at home to get all Bactined up, Josh was back on the road ready for more candy. That, I should mention, was the second bad spill he'd taken that day.

See? Unstoppable.

I felt a little bad for laughing so hard at him, you can't see the Grim Reaper take a header down a flight of stairs and not laugh.

Pointing may not have been necessary, though.

There is such thing as a free breakfast*

It's National Pancake Day tomorrow, according to the fine folks at IHOP.

Sez the website: "On February 28, 2006 from 7 AM to 2 PM IHOPs across the country will celebrate National Pancake Day (also known as Shrove Tuesday) by offering our guests a free short stack of pancakes*. This is going to be our biggest one day celebration in our history."

That little * you might have noticed is for this part here: "Limit one free short stack per guest. Valid for dine-in only, no to go orders. Not valid with any other offer, special, coupon, or discount. Valid at participating restaurants only, while supplies last."

So if your IHOP isn't participating (and shame on them if they aren't), don't blame me. I'm just the messenger.

They also suggest that you make a charitable donation, which isn't a bad idea.

I like my pancakes in the shape of a J or a Mickey Mouse head, but for free, plain ol' circles are just fine.

(via Metafilter

Men of many faces

Don Knotts died Friday at the age of 81.

To my parents' generation, he was Barney Fife. To me, he was Barney Fife, Ralph Furley, The Incredible Mr. Limpet, a funny guy in damn near every Disney movie from the 70s (or so it seemed), a guest on Scooby-Doo and The Muppet Show, and, well, you get the idea.

He was everywhere.

And no matter what, he was making me laugh. As a kid, I had the most respect for people who made me laugh. I look forward to sharing Don's body of work with my son, who already has a pretty healthy appreciation for comedy.

---

Darren McGavin, who starred with Don Knotts in "No Deposit, No Return" and "Hot Lead and Cold Feet," died Saturday. He was 83, which surprised me. For some reason, I thought he was a bit younger.

I'd bet it's because 90% of the time I see him on TV, it's as Ralphie's crusty dad in "A Christmas Story."

"Not a finga!"

Brody isn't even 3 yet, but I think he's seen this movie about 12,000 times.

---

Abe Vigoda is still alive. He turned 85 on Friday.

From the "Oh, well that makes much more sense" department:

There's a follow-up to the story about the microwaved manhood I mentioned yesterday.

Turns out that the tidbit in question was fake. Apparently, "a man and a woman had inserted urine into a fake penis that the woman was planning to use to pass a drug test."

The whiz kids needed the microwave -- which has since been thrown away -- to heat the pee up to normal body temperature.

This, I think, illustrates the perils of drug use much more effectively than the episode of "Saved By the Bell" where Jessie gets hooked on caffeine pills ("I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so...scared!").

I mean, honestly, what series of decisions do you have to make before nuking a pee-filled mock member in a microwave seems like a logical thing to do?